


Meet Me Halfway

by StopDropandRoar



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Also Happy Beginning and Middle, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kid Natasha, M/M, Parent Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Stucky Big Bang 2016, Very Small Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 14:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StopDropandRoar/pseuds/StopDropandRoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James closes his eyes for a moment more and continues to lie still. He sweeps his left hand over the other side of the bed, where he can still feel the dent from where Steve slept next to him the night before. It’s the most perfect, beautiful Saturday morning he’s ever experienced, and he’s just a little afraid to get out of bed because it can only go downhill from here.</p>
<p>It turns out that he’s wrong, of course. Walking into the kitchen to see Steve sliding a pancake off of the griddle and onto Natalia’s favorite plastic plate, the way their faces simultaneously light up when they notice him standing at the doorway -- well, now it really can’t get more perfect.</p>
<p>-- He thought the hard part would be finding the man of his dreams, but he was wrong. The real struggle comes with making two lives into one. --</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much to talented Vitoria for the beautiful cover art. You can find more of her great work at made-of-stardusts on tumblr.

Chapter 1. They meet.

James wakes up to a stream of light pouring through a dirty window. He blinks slowly, observing the dust motes that floated through the air towards him.

“Natashka?” he calls as he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

No answer. Huh. Everything is so quiet. James catches the time from his clock out of the corner of his eye. 06:32. Weird. His little girl is usually up with the sun, ready to help feed the animals and get started on breakfast.

“Natasha!” Nothing, still. Why wasn’t she answering? What if something was wrong?

Concern floods James’ chest. It’s a rare morning that he doesn’t wake up to Natalia barging into his room and demanding that his attention. He throws himself out of bed, all remnants of sleep left behind, into the skinny hallway, and bursts through the doorway to see Natasha in her bed, tangled in sweaty sheets and blankets. Rosie, their long-haired pointer, was curled up at the foot of the bed, waiting for Natasha to wake up, but she jumps down and clips towards James as soon as she seems him. Natalia’s favourite toy, a soft lamb called Sachi with several patches and mismatched eyes, lays on the floor, clearly kicked away by accident at some point in the night. James takes in a deep breath. She was right where she was meant to be.

He should never have listened to that stupid parenting book. Children will have attachment problems if they share a room with their parent, his ass. The parent was going to have attachment problems if they didn’t share. Sure, maybe he was a little overprotective, but you could hardly blame him for wanting to keep his sweet kid safe.

He creeps up to her gently, all panic gone, and whispers, “Natalia,” crouching at her side. She doesn’t stir. “Natalia,” he repeats a little louder as he gently places a hand on her forehead. Her forehead is damp and, way, way, too warm. The panic from before starts to creep back. He kneels by her bed and shakes her by her shoulders worriedly. “Natalia, Natalia, wake up, princess.”

After a few heart-pounding seconds on James’ part, Natasha wiggles a little and groans. James cups her flushed, chubby face. “Sweetheart, wake up, please.”

Natasha’s thick eyelashes flutter open. “Papa...” she mumbles hoarsely and closes her eyes again. “Papa, I have to sleep,” she tucks her head into her pillow, leaving only a nest of red curls exposed.

“Okay, baby girl,” James whispers, “I’ll be right back.” James rises and rearranges the blankets to cover Natasha properly. He takes a step towards the door but looks back. Sachi is still on the floor. James creeps back towards the bed and picks Sachi up from the floor, tucking the toy under Natasha’s covers with her, then he pads quietly out of her room and into the kitchen.

There, James dilutes some apple juice with water in Natasha’s pink sippy cup. Rosie is nudging his leg, so he scoops some kibble out of the bin and into the dog bowls -- Dozer and Lena are still asleep in his room, but they’ll be up soon. The chickens and goats can hang out in the barn until they get back from the clinic.

He leans against the counter for a second before and sighs, staring at the remains of Shabbat candles on the table from last night’s supper, before turning to the cabinet and grabbing the thermometer. He needs a shower and a hairbrush, but that’ll have to wait. Oy, it’s definitely going to be a long day.

When he returns from the kitchen, Natasha is no longer tucked up in her bed. She’s sitting up, leaning her side against her mountain of pillows. Her bare feet dangle off the bed and she clutches her toy lamb to her chest as if her life depended on it. James sets her cup down on the bedside table and sits down next to her.

“Papa, I don’t feel good.” Her rough little voice quivers and her complexion looks both flushed and a little green. “Owwww....” she moans.

“Honey, I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m going to take your temperature real quick, okay.” James slides the end of the thermometer under Natasha’s tongue and presses the button. A few moments later, it beeps thrice and he removes it. He squints at the reading on the thermometer, but it’s difficult to make it out in the dim light, so he moves towards the window where a little sunshine is filtering in between the curtains. 102. Shit, she’s never had a fever that bad. They have to go to the clinic right away. She at least has the flu, if not something worse.

“Princess, can you lay back down, please?” Natasha is sitting up still, tensely now, not leaning against her pillows. She doesn’t move. James approaches her bedside again. “I’m going to go grab some stuff and then we’ll go to the doctor and feel better, but you can get a few more minutes of sleep.” He puts a hand behind her neck to coax her down, but she flinches when he touches her.

“Nooo...” she whines. James decides to let it be. There will be plenty of other points of contention for them to argue about through the rest of the day. “I’ll be right back.”

Hurriedly, James heads to his room and throws on a clean shirt, yesterday’s jeans, and a beat up Philadelphia Eagles jacket. He quickly pulls his hair back into a bun and stuffs his wallet and keys into his pocket.

He returns to Natasha’s room. She’s in the same position he left her in, wincing in discomfort and tense all over. James pulls Natasha’s favourite blanket, a blue square of flannel with yellow stars, off the bed and wraps it around her shoulders. That and the footie pajamas she has on ought to be plenty to keep her warm in the early autumn morning, he thought. He scoops her, still clutching Sachi the lamb, into his arms and walks briskly out of the house, kicking the front door closed and reaching for his keys one handed.

After unlocking the car, James buckles Natasha into her car seat in the back of their slightly scuffed green four-door. She seems about ready to fall asleep again, as she puts up none of her usual resistance to the seatbelt across her chest. James closes the door and takes a quick breath while he’s outside, briefly alone, before opening his own door and turning the key. The sedan rumbles to life and pulls out of the driveway and onto the farm-to-market road that leads to town.

James drives the twelve miles to the clinic gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter, knuckles turning stark white. Natasha’s quiet sniffles fade out about a mile into the drive. With a glance at the rearview mirror, James sees that her head has dropped to her chest and her grip on her stuffed toy has loosened. Within fifteen minutes, the green car is pulling into the parking lot of the urgent care clinic and James is pulling a still-sleepy and grumbling Natasha out of the backseat.

As they come through the door, it’s clear that the woman behind the check-in desk has been in the same chair since 04:00 that morning and isn’t happy about it. James balances Natasha on his hip and approaches her.

“Hi, um, I think my daughter has the flu,” James says, running his free hand through his hair nervously. Overworked women have always put him on edge -- he's not looking forward to the day when Natasha becomes one.

The clerk arches one eyebrow, taking them in -- “Name?

“Natalia Barnes.”

“And your’s?”

“James Barnes.”

“Birthdate?”

“Fifth of November, 2011.”

“Fever?”

“Yeah; it was 102 when she woke up.”

She grunts in acknowledgement and enters Natasha’s information into her computer. “Okay, next available slot with a PA should be in a couple hours. We’ll call her name, Mr. Barnes.”

James nods with a brief thank you and turns to face the waiting area, which is packed with sticky plastic chairs and features a couple stacks of magazines placed throughout -- Golf Digest, Parents, and the National Enquirer -- thoroughly paged-through and slightly torn. A never-ending loop of an ancient episode of America’s Funniest Videos plays on a boxy, flickering television mounted in the corner of the room.

James chooses a seat as far away as possible from the other sniffling kids. There’s nobody else in their row except for a boy, clearly rather distraught, in his soccer kit with a taped-up ankle, and his mother, clearly rather tired. Natasha curls up in James’ lap. Her nose is running a bit and a sheen of sweat covers her face.

Natasha’s eyes are drooping and James is almost impressed that she’s able to sleep in this waiting room. He never can sleep in these situations -- the waiting for some unspecified time, the bland, grey walls, the television’s monotone drone -- he always feels as if he’s frozen in stasis, unable to do so much as blink. James starts to space out but remembers the animals waiting for him in the barn and pulls out his phone to text Wanda.

_Hey, Wanda, sorry to bother you so early, but could u let the chickens out of the coop for me? N is sick and we r at the clinic._

**No worries, neighbor,** she texts back in a few minutes. The text is accompanied by a selfie of her in work boots, flanked by two messy little boys. James shoots her a quick _thanks, ur a lifesaver_ and sticks his phone back in his pocket.

Fifteen minutes, or perhaps an hour, maybe two, drip by. Wanda has texted him back -- she went ahead and collected eggs, milked goats, and put out food for all the animals, bless her generous heart. The waiting room becomes a little more crowded with children who convinced their parents to let them stay home from school, a couple folks with minor injuries, and a handful of healthy people edging nervously away from the obviously sick. The nurse sticks her head into the lounge intermittently to call someone back into the exam rooms.

James skims his eyes over each person in the room. Hunched in the corner is a woman in a 7-11 polo and khakis, clearly come straight from work, looking pale as a ghost and completely miserable. James imagines her suffering through her eight-hour night shift like that, stuck in a haze as she punched numbers into the register and wiped down the hot dog machine.

Yikes. At least she’s a reminder that, for him, matters could be worse. As far as work-life balance, the hobby farm and some IT consulting from home leave him with plenty of time for Natasha and sick days as necessary. Natasha is still sleeping on him, the heat of her forehead burning his chest. Her face is snotty and sweaty, and she still clutches her toy lamb to her chest.

It’s very crowded now, just a few empty seats scattered across the room. With a tiny magazine table on his right, James thought he’d be safe from bumping elbows, but now, on his left are the last two seats next to each other in the whole room. Oh, well. Hopefully, it’ll be their turn to see the doctor soon, anyways. He rubs Natasha’s back softly and stares at the opposite wall.

The sound of the door swinging open draws James’ attention. A small man, grumpy and struggling to breathe, comes through on forearm crutches. A taller one holds the door open for him, forehead gently wrinkled, like he’s worried but knows better than to show it. They approach the desk, and after a quick conversation with the receptionist, turn towards the seating area. The man in the crutches spots the two seats next to James and makes a beeline for them, albeit a little slowly -- he must be hurting, given the way he’s gritting his teeth. Or maybe he just can’t stand the idea of wasting several hours of his life in this waiting room.

Possibly because he's bored, James inspects him discretely as he makes his way over. Despite the grimace, he's a good-looking guy. His blonde hair flops over his forehead endearingly, but any cuteness is offset by his strong jaw.

The tall man tries to guide the man with crutches towards the chairs with a hand on his back but quickly withdraws when his friend shoots him a glare. Not much of a guy for accepting help, then. Huh. As they get closer, James can hear the shallow, shortness of breath that probably brought the smaller guy here.

The sick man collapses into the chair next to him. A little sweat, probably from exerting himself despite whatever pain he’s in, drips down his forehead, adhering a few stray blonde hairs to his face. He turns to look at James and stares him in the face for just a moment too long. James stares back, a little startled, and adjusts his grip on Natasha, looking down at her instead in order to break the eye contact.

The blonde guy glances down at Natasha and then turns to his friend, who is settling into the chair next to him. “Come on, Sam,” he says. “They’re just going to give me some steroids and send me home.”

“Chest pain is serious stuff, Steve,” Sam answers. “Better safe than sorry.” Sam looks around for a magazine, probably just to avoid the anger in Steve’s eyes.

“I know...” Steve sighs and slumps in his chair a little, frustrated. “Just tell that to my wallet when another medical bill shows up in the mail.”

Sam pats Steve twice on the knee but doesn’t say anything. He rests the back of his head against the wall and closes his eyes. Steve probably reads this as an indication that he isn’t going to get any entertainment from Sam for the rest of the wait, so he turns back towards James. There’s an awkward second of his staring at James again, but he quickly breaks the silence.

“Is she okay?” he says, gesturing towards Natasha.

“Um, I guess so,” James answers, a little confused as to why this conversation is happening. “She’s..." James swallows, stars in his eyes as he looks down at his little girl, "she’s a tough cookie --”

“I can tell she’s going to be fine. Take it from someone who spends way too much time in waiting rooms.” Steve interrupted James, but, from his smile, James can tell that he only meant to spare him from trying to figure out what to say about his sick kid to a stranger. There’s a little silence between them until Steve pulls a small sketchpad out of his pocket along with a pencil sharpened to just a few inches in length. He scribbles something down. Sam is still leaning against the wall, apparently accustomed enough to Steve’s quirks to remain unconcerned by his attempts to strike up new friendships at the emergency clinic.

“Look, chest pain ranks pretty high as far as triage goes, and they’re going to call me in soon, but you seem really nice, so..." Steve starts.

“Steven Rogers?” the nurse calls, holding open the door that leads back to the exam rooms. Sam rises at the sound of his friend’s name. Steve gets up, too, and James stares up at him wide eyed, unsure how to understand what just happened.

"Here,” Steve rips the page off the notepad and shoves it into James’ hand. James takes the note with the hand not wrapped around Natasha and holds it in his lap. "I saw you looking when we walked in,"Steve says awkwardly, as if by way of explanation. Sam and Steve walk up to the door, pass through, and are gone.

James opens his hand to look at the note.

\-- Steve Rogers -- it says, -- 610-383-1944 --


	2. They return home and James answers a phone call.

Chapter 2. They return home and James answers a phone call.

By the time James gets home, after an inordinately long wait at the clinic, a short meeting with a physician’s assistant, who quickly concluded that Natasha had the flu, a stop at the pharmacy, and a swing through the Chick-fil-a drive through, it is approaching 5:30. Natasha, still covered in French fry grease and chicken nugget crumbs, is once again passed out in her car seat, her chubby hand reaching towards the stuffed animal on the seat next to her.

James pulls the key out of the ignition. He grabs a baby wipe out of the glove box before getting out of the car and opening Natasha’s door. He silently wipes off her face and hands before unclipping her from the car seat and scooping up both his daughter and her toy lamb in his arms. Natalia barely stirs as James gently closes the door with his right foot and walks up the drive to the front door. When they get inside, James sneaks into Natalia’s room and sets her down on top of her duvet, pulling an extra flannel blanket up to her chin. He should change her into pajamas and get her to drink some water, but he figures she’ll wake up again in the next few hours anyways, so he’ll let her get a little extra rest. James pads back out to the family room and slips open the back door to go look after the animals.

Both his parents had been born and raised in New York City, but, for some bizarre reason still unknown to this day, Eleanor Barnes nee Kessler had a dream very much unfulfillable in the city. She wanted to start a dairy farm. And that’s how the Barnes’ had ended up on 240 acres in rural Pennsylvania, and Rebecca, James, and Hannah had grown up with early mornings in the barn, long bus rides to the tiny, local school, and weekends spent in stalls at farmers’ markets.

Since then, Mr. Benjamin Barnes had disappeared, Rebecca had followed her Army husband to his station in South Korea, Eleanor had succumbed to breast cancer, and Hannah had taken off to the University of Pittsburgh. With James unable to maintain the farm alone, the family had to sell the majority of the land to Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, a pair of recent immigrants and Eleanor’s distant cousins.

James opens the back door to see all three of his dogs. Dozer, who is big, black, and of both indeterminate breed and extreme fluffiness, is napping in the far corner of the back porch, while Lena and Rosie sit quietly on the welcome mat, ears perked at the sight of their master. When James opens the back door, Dozer raises his head a few inches off the ground, flicks his tail in greeting, and promptly goes back to his nap.

James pats Rosie and Lena on their heads and notices that there’s a bulging plastic bag with a note tapped on it sitting on his rickety card table, amongst the two by fours and paint cans leftover from old home improvement projects. James picks up the note and reads it out loud under his breath.

_James - Eggs are in a basket on the kitchen counter. I left the dogs outside so that they wouldn’t be trapped indoors all day. The boys may have spent most of today playing fetch with Rosie. :) I hope you and Natasha are well. Let us know if you need anything at all. \- Wanda, Tom, and Will_

James smiles and peeks into the plastic bag. Wanda is a fantastic neighbor and an even better friend. There are two Tupperware containers stuffed with peanut butter cookies, a bottle of children’s cough syrup, a box of tissues, and a brand new coloring book with Ariel, Rapunzel, and Belle on the cover. Forget it, Wanda isn’t a fantastic neighbor. She’s a bloody angel.

James opens the door for the dogs to go back inside and sets the bag down on the kitchen table before trudging back out onto the porch and towards the barn. Dozer and Lena promptly adjourn to the back bedroom, but Rosie follows James devotedly through the back door and across the porch.

As James slips through the propped-open doors of the barn, his phone buzzes, and James retrieves it from the back pocket of his jeans. The caller ID reads “Hannah,” followed by three blue heart emojis. (So sue him, he loves his baby sister almost as much as he loves Natalia.) He swipes his finger across the screen to answer and flicks on speaker phone before jamming the phone back into his pocket.

“Hi, Hannah. What’s up? I’m out in the barn.” Hannah laughs in response before greeting him.

“Hey, Buck! We really need to repaint that peeling mess, don’t we?” She laughs again.

“Yeah, I guess. So, how are you doing?” James asks as he scoops feed into a bucket and heads over to the goats’ stalls. The billy ignores him as he approaches, but moves towards his feed trough pretty quickly as soon as James moves away.

“I’m great! I have some good news for you,” Hannah gasps, trying to restrain herself from launching into one of her characteristically enthusiastic spiels, "but first, tell me how your day was."

“Spent the day at the freaking clinic. Natalia wasn’t feeling good this morning.” James moves to the next stall, which holds a nanny and her twin kids. She shies towards the corner of the stall when she sees James, nudging her babies behind her.

“Oh, no! Is she okay?”

“Yeah, Hannah, she’s fine. It’s, just a bad case of the flu.” James shuffles towards the last occupied stall, which holds his three dairy goats.

“Hey, it’ll all be okay, then, Bucky. That has to be scary, though. Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m fine,” James answers too quickly. One of the nanny goats bleats angrily and James turns away from the feed trough to shush her.

“Just don’t worry too much, Buck. You’re just like Mom sometimes, the way you worry about Natasha,” Hannah chides him as he grabs a clean milk canister off the shelf on the wall.

“Yeah, I know,” James sighs, enters the nannies’ pen, and squats down on the milking stool. “What’s your good news, Han?”

“Oh! Yeah! Oh my gosh!” Hannah squeaks. “I’ve been accepted to that Master’s program in Tel Aviv!

“Wow, Han, that’s great!” James is happy for her and very proud, but he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Pittsburgh was plenty far away from home for his taste.

“Hey,” Hannah starts, detecting the sadness in James’ voice easily, “I’m buying an international cell plan, okay. There’s no way you’re getting out of your three phone calls a week.” James smiles a little.

“Ugh, how will I carry on?” he says. James hears a little giggle from his sister and smiles wider, “But, honestly, that’s wonderful news, Hannah. You’ve really earned it. I’m proud of you, kiddo.”

“Okay, big brother, lay it on thick.” Hannah pauses for a second, “Anything else going on? Have you met anyone _interesting_?” Hannah asks suggestively.

“Well,” James hesitates a moment, wondering if he should give his sister any more fodder for her campaign to get him in a proper relationship. You know, one with another adult and regular sex and stuff. James decides to continue, “I did run into this guy in the waiting room at the clinic today. He gave me his number. But, it’s probably nothing.”

“Wow, single parenting has really narrowed down your options for meeting people,” Hannah teases.

“You know what, I have an udder in my hand. I’m getting all the action I need.” James can practically hear Hannah rolling her eyes at his joke.

“Was he cute?”

“Yeah, he was okay.” James blushes a little. The clinic guy was more than okay.

“Man up and call this _okay_ guy, then, Bucky.” James sighs but does not respond. “Look, I gotta get moving on an essay here,” Hannah continues, “But I’ll call you just as soon as I have more information about the Tel Aviv thing, okay?”

“Okay, Han. Thanks for calling. I love you.”

“Love you, too. Call that guy!” James’ phone beeps as Hannah ends the call.

As James finishes up the milking and puts the milk canister into the old fridge he keeps in an unoccupied stall, he considers the guy -- Steve -- from the clinic. He was cute and quirky and didn’t ignore Nat. 

Well, what’s the danger in trying? James pulls out his phone and the scrap of paper from his pocket and keys Steve’s number into the screen. His finger lingers over the green call button for a few seconds but then moves to tap the text message button instead. The cursor blinks in the empty message box while James decides what to say.

_Hey, it’s that guy from the clinic. James. What’s up?_

He hits send before he can change his mind, returns his phone to his jeans, closes the barn door, and goes to look after the chickens. Most of the hens have already returned to the coop. Bucky herds the few stragglers into their nests and shuts the door on the coop to keep predators out for the night. Bucky is dusting his hands off on his thighs when his phone pings at him twice. He freezes for a second. It’s probably just Hannah; there’s no way Steve would have texted him back so quickly. The phone pings again.

Bucky pulls it out and gazes down at the screen. The sun is starting to creep down in the sky, and the phone’s screen is a little too bright in the dimming light. There are three texts on his screen.

**Hi!!! Omg**

**Yeah, this is Steve ha ha**

**I know its kind of weird to say, but it was great to meet you today**

Wow. It actually is Steve. And Steve is surprisingly enthusiastic. James resists the urge to text back immediately, troops back into the house, Rosie still at his heels, and washes his hands, then goes to check on Natalia, who is still sleeping soundly. His phone pings again.

**Is your little girl okay?**

James leans against the wall in the hallway to tap out an answer.

_Yeah, it was just the flu. She’ll be fine._

He decides that his text seems a little unfriendly and adds a second message.

_Are you okay?_

Steve responds almost instantly.

**Yeah.**

A few moments pass before another text arrives.

**They just gave me steroids and sent me home**

_Your friend seemed really worried about you._

**Oh, god, ha ha, Sam is such a mother hen**

Bucky decides to take this as an opportunity to make a farming joke. He sends a picture of his flock of chickens, followed by:

_Most of my friends are mother hens, too._

**Oh my god I love them theyre so cute**

**Wait! Are you like, a chicken farmer???**

_I’m just a hobby farmer. I have chickens, goats, dogs, and a cat._

**I have a cat too shes the best**

Steve’s text is followed by a picture of a graying tabby cat with a grumpy expression. James smiles and wonders what her name is.

**Do u have another job then?**

**Oh, let me guess**

**Youre a scary assassin**

**No, you own a cupcake bakery**

**Wait, that’s too froofy**

**Lumberjack?**

**Oh, ive got it**

**You make artisanal outdoor furniture, which you learned from your Amish grandfather**

_Um, no._

_I do IT consulting from home so I can spend more time with my kid._

_And I don’t have an Amish grandfather. I’m Jewish._

_And what makes you think I’m an assassin?_

A few minutes go by without an answer

**I dont know**

**You just kind of have this cool intimidating thing going on**

_I promise I’m actually the least scary person ever_

**Ha ha okay!**

The texting back and forth continues until James hears Natalia stir in her bedroom. He glances at her pink digital clock as he tiptoes in and notices that almost an hour has gone by since he first texted Steve. He smiles to himself as he watches Natasha roll over and slowly rub her eyes.

“Papa,” she whines quietly, as she reaches up for a hug. James picks her up and sets her on his hip.

“Hey, sweet girl,” James answers, rocking her gently, “How do you feel about a snack and a bath before bedtime?” Natalia nods into her father’s shoulder in response. James walks into the kitchen and sets her down in a chair before turning towards the highest cabinet Natasha glares at him judgmentally when he parks a plastic cup full of cough syrup in front of her.

“This is gross,” she states.

“It is necessary,” James answers plainly. He can tell from the look in Natasha's eyes that she is deciding whether or not to put up a serious fight. He crosses his arms, leans against the counter, and looks into his kid’s eyes, knowing the only way to deal with Natalia when she doesn’t want to do something is to display an equal level of stubbornness for your side of the argument.

Fortunately for James, the staring contest doesn’t last long. Natasha is probably too tired to fight for long. She picks up the cup of medicine and tosses it back like a shot. She grimaces painfully as she sets the cup back onto the table.

James quickly produces a chocolate chip cookie and a glass of apple juice and Natasha’s grimace disappears. They move on to the bathroom quickly, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs in their wake. James feels his phone buzz in his pocket a few times while he’s giving Natasha her bath, but he ignores it.

When Natalia is clean, he scoops her out of the bathtub and wraps her tightly in her favorite towel, which is bright yellow and has a hood with the face and bill of a duck. It is possibly the cutest thing ever made. The towel is followed by arms and legs guided into the holes of a nightgown, a brief attempt at dental hygiene, and a brush through Natasha’s damp hair.

When they finally make it into Natalia’s bed, she asks, as is her habit, “What day is it, Papa?”

“It’s Saturday, Natashka.”

“That means we get to talk to Hannah, right? Can Hannah tell me a story before I sleep, please?” Natalia asks these questions in quick succession and blinks at James pleadingly. Even a bad case of the flu can’t get between her and Hannah, who she absolutely adores.

“I’ll text her and see if she’s busy.”

James pulls his phone out of his pocket. There are five unread messages on the lock screen, all from Steve.

**That’s fucking hilarious**

**No, but seriously**

**James??? U still there?**

**I guess you must be busy with your kid**

**No worries, man, we should get together for coffee some time, tho**

James stares for just a second, processing, but then refocuses on Natasha. He unlocks the phone and taps out a text to Hannah.

_Hey, do you have a minute to talk to N? She’s asking for you :)_

Not three seconds go by before James’ phone is buzzing with an incoming Facetime call. He answers and Hannah’s face appears. He points the camera towards Natasha.

“Hannah!” Natasha exclaims, although, drained from her long day, she lacks some of her normal enthusiasm.

“Hey, sweet girl,” says Hannah, “How are you feeling?”

“Very bad,” answers Natasha sharply.

“Okay,” responds Hannah, a little taken aback, “we do believe in honesty in this family.” James suppresses a chuckle. “Well,” Hannah continues, “what story would help you feel a little better?”

“Hmmmm,” Natasha thinks for a minute, forehead wrinkled as if this was the most important decision of her life. “Can you tell me Esther?”

“Sure thing,” Hannah responds, smiling, “Once upon a time, there was a young girl who lived with her uncle, Mordecai. She was very kind and very brave, and one day...”

By the time Queen Esther has saved her people, Natalia’s eyes are drooping closed. Hannah whispes goodnight to Natalia and James and ends the call.

“Okay,” James leans downs and kisses Natasha on the forehead, “time for us to say goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.” Natasha nods sleepily and James drags her quilt up to her chin before he flicks the light switch off and heads towards his own bedroom.

Halfway down the hallway, an idea strikes him. Maybe it is time to stick out his neck a little bit. He unlocks his phone and texts Steve back as he walks towards his bed.

_I see your coffee and raise you dinner._

James smiles, plugs his phone in and sets it on his nightstand, and heads towards the bathroom for a shower before bed.


	3. Somebody is going on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers! I apologize for the long delay. I've been absolutely swamped with a new job, university, and mental health problems! I'm trying my best to make sure I make time for the things I love, like writing, though. :)  
> I'm new to writing fanfiction, so I really appreciate any constructive feedback! Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

“Definitely half up, half down,” Wanda says, standing behind James with her hands in his hair. Natasha and Wanda’s twins are sitting across from him at Wanda’s dining room table. The boys are both wrist-deep in playdough. Natasha has a half-formed sculpture of a dog in front of her, but she’s busy paying attention to Wanda and James’ conversation.

  
“When is Uncle Viz coming home?” she interjects.

  
“He’s probably on his way back already, sweetie. But he had to go to Lancaster today, so we’ll probably eat dinner without him.”

  
Wanda’s husband earned his odd nickname -- “Vision” -- as a college football player, on account of his mysterious ability to always know just where the ball was. He quit playing after he graduated, but the nickname stuck. It seemed to fit his quirky personality better than his given name Victor and was usually shortened to Viz.

  
James glances at his watch as Wanda finishes tying his hair up in a neat half pony-tail.

  
He grabs his worn Eagles jacket off the back of the chair and puts it on over his blue button-down.

  
“Do I look okay?” he asks Wanda.

  
“You look like yourself,” Wanda says, smiling, “and I think that’s more than okay.”

  
James steps forward to hug his cousin. “Jeez, why do I have to be related to so many cheeseballs,” he whines, but he’s smiling, too.

  
Their hug breaks apart and James steps back. He waves and says goodbye to Natasha and the boys, but the three kids are occupied with mixing together the yellow and red containers of playdough.

  
James sometimes wishes Natalia would act a little more upset when they parted. He knows it’s a little stupid and selfish, but it would definitely help validate his separation anxiety if Natasha seemed to have any herself. But she just doesn’t, especially if she’s somewhere she feels safe, like at Wanda’s house.

  
James hums to himself as he drives to the diner he and Steve agreed on. It’s just outside of Allentown and pretty cheap. It was a favorite of Hannah’s back when she was in high school, but James hadn’t been there in a while. He thinks he might bring Natasha and Hannah there next time his little sister comes to visit.

  
He parks and sits in his car for a second. He asked Steve out on a whim, probably brought about by his phone call from Hannah, but James had grown a touch nervous between then and now. Steve was cute and James felt like he was the kind of guy who would be good with kids and animals. James took a deep breath and forced himself out of the car. He doesn’t want to muck up the date, but he also really doesn’t know Steve, so he can’t even predict whether or not this would even be a date worth worrying about.

  
James enters the diner and a greasy but cheerful waitress ushers him into a booth. He thanks her, sits down, and gazes out towards the dimly lit parking lot. Through the window, James watches a red pickup pulling up in front of the diner. The passenger door swings open and a pair of crutches slide out. It’s Steve, who is in a rumpled sweater and paint splattered jeans. He’s breathtaking -- not in a glamorous way, but in the way of a man who knows who he is and has no problem with it.

  
The pickup leaves the parking lot as Steve pushes his way past the door and James stands up. He smiles and waves awkwardly, unsure what to do. Steve smiles back and walks toward him. James wonders if he should offer a handshake or hug, but he decides a handshake is too formal and a hug is too familiar, so he just sits back down as Steve approaches the table.

  
“Hi,” James says.

  
“Hi,” Steve answers. There’s a little smile pulling at the corners of his mouth like he wants to laugh at the awkwardness of the situation but is stopping himself.

  
“Um,” James flicks his eyes up to Steve’s face and then back down to the table, “how are you?”

  
“Starving,” Steve answers, “I think I forgot about lunch.”

  
There are two menus laying on the table. Steve picks one up and studies it intently.

  
“Were you busy with something?” James asks, “Art project?” Both of the men glance down briefly at Steve’s stained jeans.

  
“I’m illustrating a children’s book and I just got really into it,” Steve chuckles and meets James’ eyes. They just smile at each other for a moment and James feels some of the awkwardness dissolve away.

  
Steve continues to scan the menu as he explains, “It’s about a dog who goes to the moon. Not the most gripping of plot lines, but it’s fun to paint.”

  
“Sounds like something most kids would like, though,” James responds. He hasn’t even picked up the menu. He’d much rather study Steve’s flop of dirty blond hair, and he already knows what he wants to order, anyways.

  
“Yeah,” Steve answers and there is a lull in the conversation.

  
The waitress approaches and asks, “You boys ready?”

  
Steve orders black coffee and an eggs benedict. James asks for a burger, fries, and a coke. The waitress nods and repeats their orders back to them before heading back to the kitchen.

  
“Who dropped you off?” James asks Steve once the waitress is gone.

  
“Sam.”

  
“The mother hen friend?”

  
“Yeah,” Steve laughs. “He’s really not that much of a mother hen. He’s going to a party at a friend’s place nearby.”

  
“He sounds like a great guy.”

  
“He is.”

  
“So, you do a lot of illustrating?”

  
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve done books and cover art for video games...” Steve goes on about a few of his current projects.

  
They make small talk about their respective jobs until the waitress comes back with their food.

  
Steve shoves his first bite into his mouth.

  
“God, that’s good,” he says as he swallows and starts to cut another piece of egg, “we picked a good place, huh?.” Steve pauses for a moment, considering his words, and continues, “Sorry, I know it’s ridiculous to bring this up out of the blue, but I just have to ask. About Natasha’s mom, I mean.” Steve glances down at his plate and then back up at James.

  
Thirty awkward seconds pass in silence. James swallows the food in his mouth and scratches the back of his head -- nervous tick. Steve turns his head to peer over at the counter as if to give James a moment of privacy.

  
“She doesn’t have a mom,” James answers. Jesus, that was sudden and weird. James is surprised, sure, but he’s not upset. It’s kind of refreshing to talk to someone who does the very opposite of tip-toeing around the subject.

  
“I’m sorry, I just --”

  
James cuts him off, “It’s okay. I’d really rather have it all out on the table.” He takes a bite of his burger and chews thoughtfully.

  
“She was a foster kid,” James starts, “It’s kind of a long story.”

  
“No, tell it,” Steve encourages him.

  
So James tells him. He became a parent in an unusual way. After Rebecca got married, their mother Eleanor couldn’t put up with a quiet three person household and applied to become a foster parent. They had a few kids around for short stays at first, and Ellie, James, and Hannah did all they could to provide them with a safe, happy home. But then, Natalia arrived.

  
She’d already been in foster care for a few months, but her busy first home couldn’t give Natalia the attention she needed to thrive. When the car carrying her pulled up in front of their home, it was James who carried her car seat into the house and unbuckled her, held her gently, and let her grip his finger, while Eleanor stayed outside and talked to the social worker.

  
A few days after Natalia’s first birthday, Eleanor answered the phone to learn that Natalia’s mother and father’s parental rights were terminated and Natalia could be adopted. The way James’ mom looked up at him with big eyes from across the kitchen table that evening, while Natalia slept soundly in her playpen and Hannah scribbled away at her math homework on the couch... James just couldn’t say a word against his family taking responsibility for the delicate, clever little girl who had held his heart from the day they met.

  
The day Eleanor was diagnosed with breast cancer, James held Natasha to his chest and tried, and failed, not to cry. When Ellie arranged for the Maximoffs to buy most of their land, and there were no more cows, James had Natasha to keep him busy, instead of his missing the animals he’d looked after his whole life. When Ellie passed and James, Rebecca, and Hannah stood huddled together at her funeral, Natasha was on James’ hip, there to give all three of the Barnes’ hope for the future. When Rebecca left for South Korea and Hannah took off for university, James took comfort in the fact that his sisters were pursuing their dreams, and he could pursue his -- to be the best parent Natalia Barnes could possibly have.

  
Steve interrupts to asks a few questions towards the beginning of James’ story, but by the end, he is just listening intently and reaching over to steal fries without moving his eyes from James’ face.

  
“Sounds like it’s you and her against the world,” says Steve when James finishes talking.

  
James' eyes crinkle a little as he says, “We have plenty of friends. But, yeah, it sure does feel that way sometimes.”

  
“Wow,” Steve says. They fall silent for a couple minutes as James digs into what’s left of his food and Steve sips at his third cup of coffee.

  
Steve is the one to break the silence. “Um, I have muscular dystrophy.”

  
James looks up from his plate and blinks at him.

  
“What?”

  
“Well, you told me a big, scary thing, so I figure I better return the favor.”

  
“Oh,” answers James, still a touch confused. He pauses for a moment before asking, “What is muscular dystrophy, exactly?”

  
“Well, your muscles basically get weaker as you go along. That’s a big simplification, of course.”

  
“I see,” James thinks for a moment, “so, um, when did you find out?”

  
“Well, I started having symptoms when I was a teenager. Mostly weakness and tightness in my legs, fatigue, and breathing problems.” He stops for a beat, “And pain. Can’t forget the pain.”

  
“Yikes,” says James, who is a little put off by how bloody chipper Steve sounds about all of it.

  
“Oh, it ain’t that bad,” Steve brushes him off. “I’m a bit of a masochist, anyways.”  
James blushes just a tad and sits stiffly.

  
“Sense of humor, James,” Steve says and leans across the table a little to nudge James’ shoulder. This shakes James out of his stupor and he finds something to say.

  
“Thanks for saving me from the awkward questions,” he says, a little flatly.

  
Steve laughs.

  
They’re trading jokes when the waitress walks by to ask if they’d like dessert. They split a piece of apple pie. By the time she brings the check, it’s been a good three hours since James stepped through the doors.

  
“I’ll get it,” Steve says, grabbing for the bill.

  
“What, no, you don’t have to,” James stammers.

  
“I want to,” Steve answers and there’s a flash of strength in his eyes. James feels like he just got a little glimpse of the steel backbone that’s hidden underneath Steve’s pretty face and cheerful attitude.

  
James leans back and watches him silently. Steve grabs his crutches and swings his legs outside of the booth. James notices that he pulls himself up with great effort -- but it’s the great effort of a man who exerts that effort all day, every day.

When Steve sits back down, James smiles and lays his hand on the table, palm up, an invitation. Steve’s mouth lifts up at the corners and his hand meets James’. Their fingers curl around each other loosely.

They talk quietly for the rest of the evening, and their words and quiet laughs, the gentle warmth of their touching hands, form a private bubble around them. As far as James is concerned, Steve is the only person in the room. Steve tells James about growing up in Brooklyn, getting bullied in high school, and how he met Sam. James talks about growing up on a dairy farm and shares lots of stories about Natasha. By the time they troop out to the parking lot to leave, there’s only five people left in the diner -- the waitress and the cook, who are leaning against the counter and gossiping quietly, an exhausted nurse just off her shift, James, and Steve.

  
In the lot, James opens the passenger door of his car for Steve. Once they’re both belted in, Steve turns to James and says, “You know, I could’ve asked someone to get me or called an Uber or something.”

“It’s no problem, Steve,” says James, and he pulls out of the parking lot and follows Steve’s directions to his apartment complex. They’re quiet in the car, mostly talked out for the night, but there’s a soft tension built up between them by the time they reach Steve’s building. It’s ugly and a little beat up, but there is warm light pouring out of a few of the windows.

“I won’t ask you in for coffee,” Steve says, breaking their silence, “I’m saving that for a later date.”

“So there’ll be more dates?

  
“Yeah,” Steve whispers, and before James knows it, Steve is leaning towards him, resting his hands on James’ shoulders for support, and James is leaning towards Steve and their noses are bumping together and their lips meet, a little too wet and not quite aligned, but Steve pulls back just a tad and then goes in for another one. This time their mouths line up perfectly.

  
They kiss gently and briefly. James pulls away and grins broadly at Steve. Steve’s eyes are shining and he’s smirking slightly.

  
“I... I’m gonna go home now,” Steve says. He grabs his crutches and pushes open the passenger door. He slides out of the car, throwing a wide grin over his shoulder.

  
James watches him slip through the door and into his building. As the door swings closed behind Steve, James closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. He groans. A few more dates with a guy like that and he’ll be well and truly gone.


End file.
